


Allez Cuisine!

by blistry



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cooking, Drama, Fluff, Force Choking, Humor, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Out of Character, hux is extra, lots of cooking, the lore is not strong with this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blistry/pseuds/blistry
Summary: Hux’s culinary passions might as well have been buried beneath a billion layers of permacrete. He was a fiercely private man, after all. However, if, theoretically, his hobby became common knowledge, it would also be equally known that General Hux was no amateur whose talents began and ended with a pauper’s ‘bomb-ass grilled cheese’.He didn’t serve food, he served art. Art, damn it! No matter what that brooding brat had to say about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i needed something to do while waiting for TLJ so this is happened.
> 
> i dont really know much about star wars or cooking, or anything really.
> 
> come, come laugh with me
> 
> never mind that botched lore, traveler. come look at some cookin boyes go to flavortown.

General Hux, ever tall and starched to maddening perfection, gasped a rather uncharacteristic gasp. It was tiny, granted. Inconsequential, Hux might argue. Not that it mattered as he was quite alone. He set his holopad down neatly, his upbringing having instilled the habitual avoidance of any type of racket. It barely emitted a meek _chnk_ against his perfect, slate desk. A deep sigh raised and dropped his broad, black-shrouded shoulders.

He’d received a particular notice of delivery that he had been anticipating all afternoon.

Despite his unflappably austere appearance, the General was actually on the verge of a most tasteless emotion. Giddiness, was it? _Hideous_. He wanted to lie to himself and blame it on space-indigestion, but Hux couldn’t force himself to be that stupid if he tried.

 _Not like that_ **_oaf_ ** _who could probably be convinced to dance a Corellian sand-shoe if someone promised him an old pair of Darth Vader’s knickers,_ came a most uncharitable thought from the back of his mind.

Though, perhaps, if Hux _really_ were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that same angsty, swishy-robed oaf was fighting his way to the forefront of Hux’s thoughts with startling regularity. _The tactless, childish_...Hux turned a flawless about face, showing his back to the end of that thought. He was determined to continue on without letting himself be distracted. There was a parcel waiting for him, one of such import that he elected to collect it himself.

His gait could best be described as three-fourths glorious swan (More Odile than Odette), and one-fourth irretrievable Electrostaff-up-the-ass. The latter portion still confounds meddroids to this day, or so say the more blue collar crew members on board the Finalizer, shooting caf out of their noses while cackling, besmirching the sterling name of Hux for entertainment. Still, there wasn’t a single lackey that dared meet his purposeful glare today or impede his march. There never would be, Hux knew, no matter how many different hilarious objects he might have allegedly kiestered.

It was a strange animal, indeed, which darkened his already sufficiently stormy expression. Something else had him snapping at young officers and, occasionally, just straight bitch-slapping those window-lickers heading the mining ops.

_I mean, really, how can those morons flub simple inventory reports time and time again?_

He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose but he was striding the low lit halls openly now, acknowledged with terror or respect. Both of these, merely multisyllabic words for _ball-shrinking-scrutiny._ It made him want to claw his way out of his own flesh. Shambling around as a bloody meat pile might be less stressful. Being, literally, a skeleton might actually make improvements upon his future cardiovascular health.

Then there was the smallest crack in his facade - an unmistakable, totally unintentional grimace one might only show at a particularly unsavory memory. The memory, perhaps, of a lanky ginger, pale as a fish belly, yacking all over the floor in front of his gym classmates because he wasn’t a stellar long-distance runner when he started at the Academy - suddenly twisted the right edge of his stern frown. The orange brows wrinkled ever so acutely (cutely).

It was just this blasted trouble of Kylo Ren finding out about Hux’s undeniable passion for cooking.

Even the marble-hewn (read: pasty) General Hux wanted to sweep off the mantle of infinitely respected man of very big specialness on the shooty laser ball to decompress. Kriff it, was a man not entitled to a little relaxation every now and again? Why, he had heard just last week about Lieutenant Colonel Vessic in Engineering. He’s an amateur _magician_ , the idiot. With a deck of cards and all. No one ever harassed that guy and he was a huge nerd!

 _What’s his signature move, I wonder? Making all the women in the room disappear?_ Hux shook his head, slightly. _Stars, that was savage, even for me. Reign it in, killer._

The General had never refrained from reprimanding himself, as it set a good example for his crew and kept him disciplined.

He also made a point not to be so loose-lipped about his secret hobby as Lieutenant Colonel Vessic, the idiot. Oh no, Hux’s culinary passions might as well have been buried beneath a billion layers of permacrete. He was a fiercely private man, after all. However, if, theoretically, his hobby became common knowledge, it would also be equally known that General Hux was no amateur whose talents began and ended with a pauper’s ‘bomb-ass grilled cheese’.

Hux didn’t serve food, he served art. Art, damn it! No matter what that bat-winged, brat had to say about it.

He had to curb his temper now, as he gave a dutiful thank you to the postmaster, trying to measure every gesture and facial movement so as not to betray his excitement. The rectangular gray package itself was, much to his embarrassment, striped with alien warning labels and customs stamps. He collected it without delay and tucked it under his arm. The contents had to be cooled immediately. Directly on ice.

The same could be said for his cherry red cheeks. He damned his flawless, pearly complexion to double space-hell. It wasn’t his fault! He just couldn’t stamp out the burning anger that Kylo Ren filled him with on an hourly basis.

Hux could barely believe he had the gall to burst into his personal quarters that night, all brooding with dark purpose until he realized that he had caught the General in a creaseless, black, double breasted coat, shiny cast iron pan in hand...

_The news Kylo bore from Snoke would wait until he got the mean comments out of his system while the sensuous smell of sizzling bantha flank, pan-seared in butter with a melangé of knifecat spines, needa root, and rosemary hung heavy in the air around them._

_“Is that a spatula? Are you holding a spatula right now?” He goaded, his crackling, humming voice carrying notes of blasé cruelty. Hux could only clutch his pan furiously as a rather disconcerting blood vessel in his forehead threatened to rupture. Then, Kylo’s shiny black mask angled upward, bending the reflection of sterile fluorescent light, ever so slightly. He recoiled but only above the shoulders._

_“Is-” he straightened, suddenly, “is that a toque?”_


	2. Hux Recalls the First Incident

In the present, Hux cringed at the memory again, pounding the access code for his quarters into the keypad perhaps a little more aggressively than normal. His brow became shiny with perspiration. With an iconic _sshhh_ from his space-door, he slipped inconspicuously inside.

He didn’t even wait to carefully drape his jacket onto the back of the chair in his office. Hux strode directly into the small kitchen of his modest quarters. The matte, muted shades of utilitarian gray that made up the kitchen had become his home during the entirety of his tour aboard the Finalizer.

He had always made a point to reject the extra perks afforded to an officer of his rank. He found it distasteful. The idea of such _excess_ irritated him. The only things of extravagance which he enjoyed were precious ingredients and his sideburns. No mini bars or pinball tables for Hux. His kitchen had only the essentials and was wanting for counter space but Hux believed that the bareness of it only made him stronger. More efficient. More creative. More competitive.

_More competitive?_

Another gush of blood rushed to his head. Kylo Ren had to kark up everything that Hux loved. One way or another, the inky space-dracula always finds a way!

Hux used to cook for himself. First, as a means to an end as he wished for a little more...variety than what the refectories had to offer aboard his vessel. Then, it became a surprise creative outlet and much needed destressor. Nothing like the soothing balm of rolling Mon Calamari rolls by hand to wipe away a horrifying encounter with a sixty-four foot tall hologram of a malevolent, nightmare creature that will end him if he so much as thinks out of line.

Then, stars be damned, after all these rotations of having this beautiful oasis all to himself, Kylo Ren had to come looming in to spoil it on that fateful night only two weeks ago...

_As soon as he was done laughing at Hux’s very appropriate kitchen attire he removed his helmet, his wavy black hair spilling out, half damp from sweat. Even the great and terrible Kylo Ren got hot under the collar, especially when it came to encounters with his master._

_“It smells good,” he said, dark eyes mocking and challenging all at once. Then, his perpetual frown relaxed somewhat. “Hm,”_ **_sniff sniff_ ** _, “rosemary.” Hux flinched, Kylo doubled-down._

_“I want to try it,” he demanded like Hux was damn well obliged! And the lack of tact was as admirable as it was infuriating. Hux grew up in a world where every word was a trap or subterfuge. Kylo was different. He was a man with absolutely no need for tact._

_“Have me over for dinner. I want to try that bantha.” The famed Sith crossed his arms resolutely._

_What a bizarre thing for a proto-darth to demand of his coworker. Hux could feel a nosebleed coming on._

_“Absolutely not,” the redhead replied. It was succinct, stern, and quite indignant. “And I demand you leave my chambers this instant._

_“Take it off the heat.”_

_“No! This,” Hux thrust his spatula down to point at his feet, “_ **_this_ ** _is the line. You have absolutely zero respect-”_

_“You should let that set now.”_

_“-man of my authority and stature, a total lack of all decorum,”_

_“You’re going to overcook it,” Kylo barked, at the absolute end of his rope._

_“-not to mention the breach of privacy!” Hux frowned; his nostrils flared once, twice. His mouth twisted into an all out snarl. “I beg your pardon? You presume to tell_ **_me_ ** _that I’ve overcooked-” Hux scoffed spitefully. This was hitting too close to home._

 _“_ **_You_ ** _probably still throw a tantrum if you have to eat your vegetables! I’d love to know what makes_ **_you_ ** _an authority on-” Hux clutched his throat and felt his toes slip away from the solid ship beneath him._

_Kylo brought him in close, glaring menacingly at him with those blackish eyes. “I’ve trained all my life. Every sense is honed to a razor’s edge. Taste is no exception.” He said through clenched teeth. Hux hacked and wheezed, nodding along in placation._

_“I have the most refined palate in this sector. No, I take that back- the most refined palate in **the galaxy**." _

_“HKKK- Yessss,” and some violent gasping. “Finest. Palate. Whatever.” His toes kicked helplessly. “Just. Have. The bloody. Flank.”_

_The crushing pressure ceased and Hux hit the ground with an undignified_ **_thump_ ** _. Air filled his lungs as he wiped the just-almost-choked-to-death tears from his eyes._

_Kylo Ren had taken a few loud strides over to the table where he sat folding a napkin like he was suddenly a civilized man. He watched Hux expectantly._

_More humiliated than harmed by the asphyxiation, Hux dusted off his arms and walked around the counter to turn off the coil burners. He also couldn’t help but glower at his unwelcome houseguest._

_“Yes, well, perhaps if_ **_I_ ** _could substantiate my every childish whim with violence whenever I wished to, I’d be an unabashed prick too,” he dared to mutter as he arranged the orange and green mottled knifecat quills in an elegant design on a square plate._

_“You manage just fine without,” Ren shot back. He seemed pleased enough with himself, in the small ways that Kylo could appear pleased. Relaxed brow, loosened fists, unclenched buttcheeks._

_Still, Kylo Ren wasn’t one to needlessly bullshit. It was at this revelation, Hux started to sweat. If Kylo Ren truly was the gourmet he claimed to be then the situation had greatly changed. He had identified rosemary by scent alone all the way across the dining table, for goodness sake! The General’s food had absolutely never been under any scrutiny but his own overcritical sort. Now, without any advance notice, his food was going to be sampled by:_

  * __Someone that isn’t him__


  * _A potential flavor connoisseur_


  * _Kylo Ren who he super does not like_



_Hux froze, spatula topped with beautifully marbled bantha and hovering just above the spiral nest of quills and roots. He didn’t want to upset the structure of the quills but, more importantly, for the first time ever, he was afraid to plate his dish._

_Could it be possible he had overcooked the flank?_

_As soon as the thought appeared, it was discarded. Absolutely not. Hux had a perfect internal kitchen timer. Self doubt would be the beginning of the end. He resisted the urge to prod the meat for tenderness and, instead, slid it with apparent effortlessness onto the plate._

_Hux’s opinion on the situation at hand evolved rather rapidly. Where there was once murderous annoyance, he soon felt anxiety which was quickly pushed out of his mind by a hesitant yet very real spark of ambition. That which had given him everything while still being his downfall. Turns out it takes that Type A sort to climb the long ladder to the rank of General._

_Dealing with Snoke had taught Hux the subtle art of hiding a quivering hand. He used this knowledge to set the plate down before the Sithling. He might have thrown in a complaint about having to cook as well as serve, but the eagerness to hear Kylo’s opinion overrode his need to be extra. A substantial turn of events as General Hux hardly ever passed up the opportunity to be extra._

_Kylo lifted his utensils and Hux bit his lip as he stepped away. With precision, the knife was raised and driven into tender, steaming bantha._

_A shit-eating smirk twisted Hux’s expression. He could almost giggle! A perfect pinkness shone where the cut was made. He didn’t allow himself to gloat yet, but, oh how sweet it would be when he could. His sincerest wish was that Kylo saved room for dessert. What was for dessert? HIS WORDS, OF COURSE._

_Kylo raised a manageable bite of meat for inspection, eyes narrowing. Apparently, satisfied, he ate. He didn’t make any show of tasting the meat. Instead, it was a seemingly rushed action, as if he were eating no more than common rations. Hux huffed at the idea._

_Without a word and with surprising daintiness, Kylo neatly stacked a small sampling of root and quill onto his fork, using the knife to arrange everything to his taste. After chewing on the mixture, he abruptly grabbed the napkin over his knee and wiped his mouth._

_“The ink from the quills soured. The animal was deceased when they were harvested,” he said it was a surprising lack of harshness._

_Hux was gobsmacked. His mouth hung open to prove it. Of course, shortly after that came the dramatic indignance and complaining. “We’re remotely stationed, if you hadn’t noticed. I’m not seeking to bankrupt the First Order with exotic acquisitions. I don’t know if_ **_you’ve_ ** _ever tried to take a knifecat alive...”_

_Kylo watched Hux intensely before nodding. “You raise a fair point.” Then, licking his teeth with little care for how it offended Hux’s proper sensibilities, he set the utensils down._

_“It’s passable but uninspired,” Ren declared. “You thought the ink from the knifecat’s quills would stabilize the Needa root.”_

_Hux flushed and glowered but, in the end, submitted with a small nod. So Kylo Ren was a bit of a foody._

_“Needa root is famously overpowering,” Kylo went on. Playing the critic fit him like a black leather glove. “You should have considered the dubious origin of the ingredient that was to play such an important role.”_

_“Perhaps,” Hux interjected angrily and through grit teeth, “if I_ **_knew_ ** _I was to be judged I would have done something entirely different.”_

_Kylo stood and tossed his napkin beside the plate. “Very well. But I advise you think hard about the next dish. I trust you will not doubt my talents again, General.”_

_“Wait, what-”_

_“I am also to inform you that Snoke has approved of your operational schedule for the next rotation,” Ren said, donning his cloak and lowering his intimidating helmet onto his head. He didn’t immediately leave, curiously. After a brief silence, he spoke._

_“The flank. I_ **_said_ ** _you were going to overcook it.” That inhuman voice returned with his helmet._

_At those words, Hux’s green eyes raised, ablaze with righteous anger. “And I didn’t!” He said without a trace of insecurity. The Sith said nothing and Hux couldn’t make heads or tails of a cold, hard mask which, he supposed was the point._

_“I like it rare,” Kylo said, finally, and afterwards didn’t wait a moment to disappear into the winding hallways of the massive base. All that remained was a partially eaten meal and a little bit of radiation from Hux going nuclear._

_After he was quite sure Ren wouldn't be returning, Hux gracelessly sawed off a chunk of bantha and horked it down. He chewed for only  a moment before scowling and spitting it out. Into the trash the lot of it went..._

Kylo Ren had been “invited” to dinner on three other occasions since then. Each time he found some flaw, some small detail that had Hux slapping his forehead and internally screaming, _how did I not notice that?_ And also,  _how does he keep ending up at my dinner table?_ Though, he knew the answer to that one himself. Hux couldn’t resist a thrown gauntlet, no matter how much he griped.

Using the memory of being humiliated to fuel his ambition, the General bent to slide open the economically sized cooling drawer before placing the parcel carefully onto the slab of piping cold sheet ice, fresh from Hoth, probably. The box emitted a - frankly, gross - wet, clicking sound as it met the frigid, crystal clear ice.

Two nearly identical boxes already sat in the drawer. They emitted their own unique, slimy, squelching noises in response. Hux cringed a little, shutting the drawer quickly to escape the icky symphony.

Sighing, he felt a burden lifted from his shoulders. Phase One of his absolutely final plan to knock Kylo Ren’s socks off with delicious food was finally finished. While it wasn’t ever going to be the most difficult phase of his plan, it was the most expensive. He let himself enjoy the therapeutic value of the moment.

Then, Hux realized he was still on company time and spared one last look toward his cooling drawer before stepping out of his kitchen and into his big boy General boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon calamari rolls are much like california rolls. not made of californians but by them!

**Author's Note:**

> rip in peace to my boy lorth needa - died like a man in the OT, gets a plant root named after him


End file.
